A Wheel of Time Fanfiction : Heir of the Shadow

Moiraine Sedai stood at the edge of the village square in Emond's Field, her calm demeanor concealing the urgency coursing through her. The Weave of the Pattern had grown tight around this village, its threads converging in ways she had not seen since Tar Valon. She could feel the resonance of ta'veren stronger than ever, each pull on the Wheel confirming what she suspected: these boys Rand al'Thor, Matrim Cauthon, and Perrin Aybara were central to the battle against the Shadow.

Lan Mandragoran's voice cut through her thoughts. "They're late," he said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"They'll come," Moiraine replied, her gaze sweeping over the square. The people of the Two Rivers had no idea of the danger that loomed. The Trollocs were coming, and with them, death.

She extended her senses, her connection to the One Power seeking any ripple of danger in the air. Then she felt it a pulse of darkness that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The Trollocs were near.

Lan's eyes scanned the tree line, his sharp gaze searching for any movement. The cool air of the Two Rivers carried a scent he recognized all too well: death. Years of fighting the Shadow had honed his instincts, and they screamed now of the danger that crept closer.

"They're in the woods," he said, his voice low and measured. "A large group."

Moiraine gave a small nod, her hands already weaving flows of Fire and Air. "We must hold them here. The boys must survive."

Lan did not respond. He did not need to. Protecting Moiraine and ensuring the survival of their mission was his purpose, as unyielding as the sword at his side. He drew that blade now, the gleam of the heron-mark catching the fading light.

"They will break against us," he said.

Thom Merrilin adjusted his cloak as he watched the tension building in the square. He had seen danger before more times than he cared to count but the air tonight felt different. The shadows in the woods seemed to stretch unnaturally, and the gleeman's instincts told him trouble was coming.

"These people are not ready," he muttered, his fingers tracing the hilt of one of the knives hidden in his cloak. "They're farmers, not soldiers."

Moiraine glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "None of us were ready when the Shadow came for us the first time. But they will fight."

Thom shook his head but said nothing more. He had grown fond of the boys, especially Mat with his quick wit and knack for trouble. If the Shadow thought to take them, it would find a gleeman's daggers were not just for juggling.

Rand al'Thor's heart pounded as he ran toward the village square, the heron-marked sword heavy at his side. He had been helping Tam with repairs to the farm when the first scream shattered the quiet night. Trollocs. He hadn't needed to see them to know; the guttural cries echoing through the trees told him all he needed to know.

"Run, Rand!" Tam had shouted, but Rand couldn't leave. Not when his friends and the people he cared about were in danger.

Now, as he reached the square, he saw chaos. Villagers were arming themselves with whatever they could find axes, pitchforks, old hunting bows. The sense of dread that had been with him for days tightened around his chest as he spotted Mat and Perrin.

"You made it!" Mat called, his grin forced but defiant.

Rand nodded, drawing his sword. "Where are they?"

Mat pointed toward the treeline. "Coming. And there's a lot of them."

Mat Cauthon gripped his bow tightly, the tension in his gut fighting with the reckless excitement he couldn't quite suppress. Trollocs were coming, and while the thought terrified him, a part of him relished the chance to prove himself.

"Stay close, Rand," he said, not looking at his friend. "You're not exactly good with that sword yet."

Rand smirked. "And you're a master archer now?"

Mat grinned despite himself. "Better than you."

His grin faded as the first of the Trollocs broke through the treeline. They were monstrous hulking beasts with twisted faces and cruel weapons. Mat's hands moved almost on their own, nocking an arrow and letting it fly. The arrow struck true, burying itself in the chest of the nearest creature.

"First blood," he muttered, trying to ignore the fear crawling up his spine.

Perrin's hammer felt heavy in his hands as he stood beside Rand and Mat. He had never wanted to fight; the forge had always been enough for him. But now, with the Trollocs surging toward them, he knew there was no choice.

"We hold here," he said, his deep voice steady despite the chaos. "Don't let them break through."

Mat glanced at him. "Since when are you in charge?"

"Since I'm the only one with a weapon that won't break in one swing," Perrin shot back.

The banter steadied him, but as the first wave of Trollocs crashed into their defenses, the weight of what they faced became all too real. He swung his hammer, the impact jarring his arms as the weapon connected with a Trolloc's skull. Blood sprayed, but there was no time to think another was already upon him.

Padan Fain watched the chaos from the shadows, a twisted smile curling his lips. The Trollocs were doing their work, spreading terror and bloodshed, but his eyes were on the boys. The Great Lord had marked them, and it was his task to ensure they were delivered into the Shadow's hands.

"Run, little sheep," he whispered, his voice a serpentine hiss. "Run, and I will be there, guiding the wolves to your heels."

He moved through the village like a shadow, unseen and unnoticed. His task was not to fight but to ensure the chaos unfolded as planned. The boys would be herded, their paths bent to the Dark One's will.

The attack raged through the night. Moiraine stood at the center of the square, her hands weaving flows of Fire and Air that lit the sky with explosions and sent Trollocs flying. Lan moved like a whirlwind, his sword flashing as he cut down creature after creature.

Rand, Mat, and Perrin fought side by side, their fear slowly giving way to a determination they didn't fully understand. Thom's daggers found their marks with deadly precision, and even the villagers, armed with little more than courage, held their ground.

By dawn, the Trollocs were defeated, but the cost was high. Homes burned, and lives were lost. Yet, in the aftermath, Moiraine knew the true battle was only beginning. The boys had proven themselves, their ta'veren nature shining through in their courage and resilience.

"We must leave," she told Lan. "The Shadow will not stop here."